


Learn from Yesterday, Hope for Tomorrow

by SailorSol



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Contemplation, Gen, Hope, Hopeful Ending, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23045581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorSol/pseuds/SailorSol
Summary: Alexsandr Kallus had not been an agent of the Imperial Security Bureau in over thirty years. The Empire itself had not, in fact, existed, for more than twenty of those years. Finding himself on the hard metal flooring of an Imperial star destroyer in the crisp black uniform he had worn for ten years was therefore rather disorienting. He must have had a concussion, because he couldn't quite remember how he had gotten here or why he was wearing such a ridiculously outdated uniform.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 107





	Learn from Yesterday, Hope for Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> I was re-watching Rebels from the beginning, and it struck me just how young Ezra was in the beginning. Which of course got me thinking about different characters' reactions in the event of time travel, one of my favorite tropes. This is the beginning of an AU that will probably never go any further, but this wouldn't stop eating my brain until I wrote it.

Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope, and crossing each other from a million different centers of energy and daring, those ripples build a current that can sweep down the mightiest walls of oppression and resistance.

\--Robert Kennedy

* * *

Alexsandr Kallus had not been an agent of the Imperial Security Bureau in over thirty years. The Empire itself had not, in fact, existed, for more than twenty of those years. Finding himself on the hard metal flooring of an Imperial star destroyer in the crisp black uniform he had worn for ten years was therefore rather disorienting. He must have had a concussion, because he couldn't quite remember how he had gotten here or why he was wearing such a ridiculously outdated uniform.

Fortunately for him, his disorientation went unnoticed amid the blaring sirens and rush of stormtroopers reacting to the burning remains of a transport shuttle not that far away. There was something familiar about all of this. It made him feel almost entirely certain that the shuttle had exploded, and that he knew exactly who had caused it. Years of practice were the only things that kept him from smirking in fond amusement; it never did well to encourage Sabine too much.

"Whoa," a young voice next to him said, and Alex turned to see a boy with dark hair and wide blue eyes staring at the explosion.

His brain stuttered. For several long seconds, he could only stare at this impossible child. Alex had a near-eidetic memory; it was part of what had first made him such a good ISB agent, and then such a successful spy and rebel. He knew this boy, with his frayed flight suit and blue-black hair that fell across a too-thin face, cheekbones sharply prominent and scar-free. 

Karabast.

A dream, then. That was the only explanation for how Ezra Bridger could be sitting next to him, far younger than Alex remembered how he looked the last time he had seen the boy, all those years ago on Lothal as he prepared to turn himself over to Thrawn in a brilliant but ultimately fatal move that not even the renowned strategist had seen coming.

An incredibly realistic dream, apparently, as the smoke from the burning shuttle stung at his eyes and the taste of burning plastic filled his mouth.

"Come on, you," a stormtrooper said, hauling Ezra up onto his feet. First instinct was to pull a blaster on the trooper, but the part of Alex that had survived for almost a year as Fulcrum stopped him. He didn't know what was going on, and on the slim chance this was something other than a dream, he needed to play this smart.

Ezra was dragged off, while another trooper helped Alex to his feet. He needed time to think, to figure out what was going on and what he was going to do next. Acting in haste would get people killed. Fortunately for him, no one was in a position to question him as he left the hangar, following half forgotten hallways to the stateroom he knew was his. It was empty save for the bunk, small desk, and built-in locker that would likely contain a spare uniform and a set of sleep clothes. A door led to the small 'fresher he was afforded as an officer. Utilitarian would have been a generous description; everything about the room screamed of the Imperial prejudice against individualism and creativity.

He grabbed the datapad from the desk, the Imperial logo spinning idly on the screen as he woke it up. He had never had a dream this detailed before, which left him with two options; some sort of an illusion meant to get information from him, or time travel. The former wasn't all that likely; he had kept himself out of galactic politics after the fall of the Empire, and even with the rising resistance against the First Order, Alex was a relative nobody. The latter should have been impossible, but Alex had witnessed many impossible things in his life, most of them associated with Ezra Bridger.

He finally pulled the holonet up on the 'pad, and sighed when he saw the date--just a few weeks from the fifteenth Empire Day. Impossible or not, he had found himself five years before the Battle of Yavin, the galactic marker that time had been measured against for the last twenty nine years by his reckoning. Three long strides brought him to the 'fresher and a mirror that reflected a young man with blond hair and thick muttonchops Alex had shaved off five years ago when they'd started coming in more gray than blond.

Right. So Alex was twenty six years old and an ISB officer, and Ezra Bridger was in his holding cells for what must have been the first time. The _Ghost_ would be returning soon enough for the kid before heading to Kessel to free the Wookies. Karabast, but they'd all been so young and naive. Zeb had never entirely forgiven himself for leaving Ezra behind, even if it had worked out in their favor. They had all still been running from their pasts at this point, though.

For one moment, Alex contemplated running from his own past. He wasn't actually that short-sighted, dogmatic young man anymore; he was a sixty year old man, Zeb's hunt-brother, Sabine's older brother, honorary uncle to Jacen Syndulla, and member of General Organa's Resistance. But he had never been one to run away from a fight, especially one that he knew was noble. And he was in a position to help so many people.

He would miss his family, but he could help them, too, and with any luck still come home to them. _All_ of them, Ezra and Kanan included. Decision made, he squared his shoulders and left his stateroom, heading towards the holding cells. The Jedi would need all the help that they could get. Last time, a Loth-rat with all the odds stacked against him had achieved the seemingly impossible in just a handful of years.

This time would be different. This time, Alex would do his best to stack the odds in Ezra's favor, in the Rebellion's favor. He could keep the Inquisitors off of Kanan and Ezra, for a little while, at least. He could set plans into place now, to undermine Thrawn later. He could warn Ahsoka about the truth of Darth Vader's identity. Maybe, with a little luck, he could even save Scarif and Alderaan. He would settle for Kanan and Ezra, though.

And while Luke Skywalker may have been the one to defeat the Sith, it was Ezra Bridger who had done something far more difficult. He had inspired Imperial agents, pirates, old soldiers, common citizens, and Rebels alike, binding them together with his brash charm and idealistic vision of a better world until they believed it too. 

Not only did he free Lothal, but he gave the whole galaxy a new hope.


End file.
